


Three Times the Doctor and Clara said they were Just Good Friends and One Time they didn't

by infinite_regress



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, whouffaldi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-12
Updated: 2017-09-18
Packaged: 2018-12-27 01:04:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12070575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/infinite_regress/pseuds/infinite_regress
Summary: “We promised we wouldn’t do this,” he said softly.“And yet here we both are,” came the reply.





	1. What are Friends For?

The Doctor sat silently on a balcony, looking across the darkening sky. The air, rich with the scent of honeysuckle, and the murmuring of the crowd in the restaurant behind him, put him in a melancholy mood. He swirled an Octarian brandy in a cut-glass tumbler, the ice chinking against the sides. The fireworks would start soon. Deonabi Turn of the Year Festival. Best pyrotechnics in the galaxy.

In the dim light, a small figure slipped into the chair at his side.

He closed his eyes briefly, facing straight ahead. “We promised we wouldn’t do this,” he said softly.

“And yet here we both are,” came the reply. Her voice was like a melody he had thought long forgotten. That slight northern inflection, the kind patience of her tone. He wouldn’t look at her. If he didn’t _look_ then maybe he could get through this without shattering himself into a million pieces. Maybe.

He sighed, mainly because it meant he could avoid talking for a few moments more.

“We came here, together, once,” she said.

“Did we?” the feigned surprise in his voice would fool precisely no one, and especially not Clara Oswald.

“We spent half the evening as hostages along with the Duchess of High Toro and her wife, the other half defusing the nuclear transistor bomb hidden in the orchestra pit, and rounded it all off with cocktails here on the terrace watching the fireworks.”

He smiled at the memory, but said nothing, because to speak would be the begining of the end. If he sat in silence perhaps she would make it easy on them both and leave.

“It was my birthday,” Clara went on. 

“Was it?” The words were out before he could stop them. He remembered it like yesterday, of course. Everything about her, once it had flooded back, shone in his memory like a supernovae among distant stars. He’d almost kissed her back then, as they had stood in the darkness watching the sky light up, drenched in victory and adrenaline. He probably should have done it. It was way too late now. 

Clara let her breath out through her teeth. “It’s my birthday today. And _you_ are just as annoying as ever.”

He pressed his lips together. He had so many questions, so much he wanted to tell her. How long had it been for her? What kind of life did she lead? Was she happy? The words turned to dust on his lips. 

“Happy birthday,” he managed.  

She raised a glass of something blue and bubbly, and he felt her sigh.

The sky was fully dark now, and music played behind them, mixing with the hubbub of the restaurant. 

“Why did you come here today?” she asked after a long silence had stretched thickly between them, snaking away into possibilities he couldn't fathom.

He shrugged, barely able to understand why he had decided to come himself, much less explain it to _her_ , the very cause of the emotions tangling in his chest. He just knew he couldn’t do it again, be around her and yet keep his distance. It was too painful. He has been right when he said it had to end. This was why.

“I came,” he said choosing his words carefully, maintaining a neutral tone, “because I wanted to remember an evening with my friend. You?”

“Exactly the same.”

He heard her sigh again, deeply this time. “Oh, Doctor” she said. Her voice began low, but quickly gained force. “I miss you! This is ridiculous!” 

He saw her properly for the first time. She looked exactly the same. Same long brown hair, deep brown eyes, her face wide and kind. She was as beautiful as ever. And breathing, he noticed. He’d have to ask her about that. 

“Honestly, where’s the harm in it? Is the universe going to crack because two old friends are catching up on a birthday?” She was talking fast, her eyes sparkling, her hands moving in sharp,  defiant gestures. 

He smiled then. How could he not? She was magnificant, his Clara. Brave and true, and he knew he was a barmy for her as ever. But could he manage his feelings for her, if he just kept his cool? They were just friends. That was all. 

“I mean to say,” she went on, “It’s not like we have to _do_ anything together. Start traveling together again I mean,” she added quickly. “But why shouldn’t two old friends meet up like this and enjoy the fireworks together?”

Their eyes met, and he was done for. She was right. Clara Oswald was always right. Where was the harm? They were friends, and it was an unkind universe that stopped two friends from sharing a drink on her birthday.

He knocked back the last of his brandy. “Quite right,” he said, standing up. He motioned her glass. “Get you another? The display won’t start for a few minutes. We have time.”

She nodded, and if he didn’t know better he’d say she had that watery-eyed sad-but-happy look about her. 

“Thank you,” she said, her voice quavering just a little.

He squeezed her hand briefly before he took the glass. “No big deal. What are friends for?”


	2. Champange and roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor and Clara have a friendly, platonic meal. With roses, champange and candle light.

Clara drummed her fingers on the edge of the balcony, looking out over the gathering crowds. She wanted to see the Doctor again. She really wanted to see him again.

She had floated back to the Diner that night following the fireworks, her head swimming after a couple more of those spicy blue cocktails. They had talked long into the night. Once they started it was hard to stop. That was the problem with an addiction: a little made you want a whole lot more. Ashildr warned her off coming back here to see him again. Clara came any way. It probably wasn’t the best idea, but here she was. 

Clara sat down, perching on the edge of her seat, her stomach fluttering. Maybe he wouldn’t come. Perhaps it would be better if he didn’t. The air was warm on her bare arms, the summer winds like a gentle caress. All she could think of was the way he’d smiled when they said goodbye, and the hopeful expression in his eyes.

Over the years she’d worked hard at convincing herself it was the right thing for them to part. Month after month she’d told herself this was right, and if he could accept it, then she could too. She’d rebuilt a life, and a good one at that. She’d learned to pilot the Diner, became proficient in temporal mechanics, and travelled to the edge of time and back again. She’d had fun, lived dangerously, and almost got engaged to an Alazonian Prince. But that didn’t work out. How could it? No one measured up to the Doctor.

The rich scent of the honeysuckle vines surrounding the balcony filled the air. She consoled herself with the thought that even if he didn’t show up this time, this wasn’t a bad way to spend her birthday; a warm summer evening watching the best firework show in the Devolian system. She took another sip of her pink drink, fizzing happily in a long-stemmed glass, and looked around the balcony. There was a table, set splendidly for two in the corner, with a spay of red roses, a silver wine cooler with champagne, candles, and cut crystal glasses. At least someone would have a nice evening tonight. 

“Hello Clara.”

Clara jumped. His voice, soft and smooth, and oh, still so Scottish, sent a shiver down her spine. Her breath caught in her throat as she turned her face up to him. 

He hadn’t changed. His hair was a little longer. Perhaps there was a line or two more around his eyes, but they entranced her just the same, that mystifying grey-green, like the sea before a storm. With a pang, it hit her how desperately she missed him. There was no use denying it. 

They stared at one another for a moment, their eyes locked in a dangerous dance. Then he reached awkwardly into his volumous pocket. 

“I... brought you a gift. Because it’s your birthday. So I thought...” He raked his fingers through his hair, and handed her a small black box. “It’s nothing much. Just the remnant of a quaisi-pulsestar polished up and hung on a chain.’

The chain was bright silver, and the gem on the necklace was the blackest thing she had ever seen, flecked with silver swirling like grains of sand. It was almost hypnotic. As she picked it up, it tingled between her fingers. 

“It’s beautiful,” she said, almost choked with emotion. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“The Felh people say it’s a symbol of friendship.”

“Thank you, “ she whispered. 

He eyed her curiously. “You got your body sorted out, then.”

She raised a startled eyebrow. 

He blushed furiously, his face turning a delicious shade of red. “I meant your heartbeat, breathing. You found a way around the chronolock.”

Clara tried not to laugh at his embarrassment. “Ashildr figured it out in the end. The Quantum Shade is still waiting, mind you, but there was no reason for my body to stay time locked. We used a temporal inverter.”

He nodded appreciatively. “Clever. I’m glad you...well, it must be better for you this way.” He waved a hand in her direction for a moment, and then let it drop to his side.

After a pause, she asked, “Have you eaten? Because we could order food, and watch the fireworks. If you are hungry, that is. If you want to.” She knew she was gabbling, talking in a rushed spurt to cover her nerves. 

“I could eat,” he said. “I can always eat these days. Is the food here good?”

“I have no idea,” she admitted. Her heart raced and boomed so loud she thought he must surely hear it. “So,” she said, bending forward conspiratorially to lighten the mood. “You think we can get through an entire meal without being hijacked or blown up?”

He grinned, broadly. “Shall we find out?

Clara signalled the waiter, a green skinned, scaly alien in a tuxedo. “Can we order dinner out here? I know we didn’t book, and you look pretty busy...”

The waiter frowned, and then glanced at his electronic ordering pad. “Ms Oswald and Doctor Smith? Your table is ready.” He gestured the table in the corner. “You did mention you might forget you’ve booked.”

Clara blinked several times, while the Doctor grinned. “I can be a bit forgetful,” she told the waiter.

As the Doctor pulled out the chair for Clara to sit, he leaned in close to her ear. “Nice touch, with the rose and champagne. And candles. Very friendly.”

Clara blushed fiercely, not sure if he was teasing or serious. “I’ll remember to mention it when I book,” she mumbled, not sure if she’d made—or would make—a terrible gaff with such an intimate gesture.

“Time traveller’s privilege. You can always get a table,” he said, sitting down. He took on a serious tone, his eyes roving around her face, as if he were memorising each line. “It’s good to see you again,” he said softly. 

Her voice was soft and breathy when she replied. “You too. I’ve missed you.” 

“I wasn’t sure you'd be here. I didn’t know if you wanted to...be friends.” He looked terribly sad, his face twitching. “I’m not sure I’m always very good at it.” 

What had happened to him that he wasn’t telling her to make him doubt himself like this? “Don’t say that. You were a great friend. You are a great friend.” She reached across to take his hand, holding his between both of hers, wishing she could take some of that loneliness away. She didn’t know where to start.

He nodded, as if he knew what she was thinking, and smiled a sad smile. “I’m fine, Clara, really. Don’t worry about me.” He dug the champagne from the cooler, and poured her a glass.

She couldn't take her eyes off him. His eyes flickered gold in the candle light. “Maybe I like worrying about you,” she said. 

He glanced up from pouring champagne into his own glass. “Maybe I like that you like worrying about me. And that’s the problem.” He looked at her intently, as if he was trying to see into her heart, to understand the complex emotions whirling in her, while still playing his own cards close to his chest. 

“Well that’s okay, isn’t it?” she said nervously. “That’s what friends do, after all.”

He picked up the cut crystal goblet, and raised it towards her. “Here’s to friendship, then.”

Their glasses clinked as the first firework exploded in the distance, filling the night air with sparkling orange light. 

Clara’s breath caught tight in her throat. She forced a smile. “To friendship.” 


	3. The Doctor Dances

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When disaster threatens, the Doctor and Clara can't resist a little adventure. The Duchess of High Torro and her wife are not fooled by the just good friends act.

The Doctor stood on the balcony, a tumbler of something amber and sweet in his hand. He swirled it once, took a swig. How much sweeter her lips would be. He put the drink down, annoyed with himself. He didn’t come here to moon like a two thousand year old hormonal teenager!

Why did you come, Doctor Idiot, a small voice in his head taunted. He had no answer, except, perhaps, that he was an idiot who didn’t know when to stop.

He felt a presence by his side, and immediately this hearts lurched. Clara. She hesitated. He turned his head to one side, and she stepped closer. 

“You came back,” she said. 

“Just passing through,” he said airily, the lie slipping between his teeth too easily. “How about you?” 

“Oh. The Duchess invited me.”

He squinted at her. “Is that a lie?”

“Was yours?” she fired back.

“Touche.” 

Clara launched into a side ways hug, wrapping her arms right around him. He patted her hands, the words on his lips unformed, unformable, unspeakable. Silence hung between them. Perhaps they could just stay like this for ever.

After a while, Clara spoke. “The Duchess of Toro is here, actually. I just saw her in the ballroom. Not sure if she recognised me.” 

“As I recall, she is a rather striking woman.”

Clara laughed. “You could say that. She hasn’t changed much.”

The band in the ballroom struck up a tune. From the balcony, the Doctor could see diners seated at tables around a wide dance floor, and couples begin to dance to the lively melody. 

Clara followed his eyes. “I don’t suppose...” 

“What?”

‘Well,” she said, her words tumbling out in a rush, “That you’d like to dance? It’s alright. You don’t have to. You probably don’t dance.” She looked at him anxiously, her eyes wide. 

He tugged his hand through his hair. “I dance. I mean I haven’t, not for a long time. But I wouldn’t be adverse to dancing with you.” He offered her the crook of his arm, even though shyness took a grip of him. “If you want to, that is.”

Her smile brightened the room. She took his proffered arm. “So,” she said, her tone gently teasing, “the Doctor dances?”

“Clara, I’m more than two thousand years old. I think it’s safe to assume I’ve danced.”

The Doctor wanted to bite back his words, but they had already oozed out, like they did more and more, lately. They were _flirting_. Five seconds in the same room, and he and Clara were flirting again. He might be an idiot, but he wasn’t a fool. This wasn’t going to end well. But nevertheless his feet carried him onwards to the dance floor, with, he reflected, the most beautiful woman in the room on his arm. What the hell was he supposed to do? He swung her around, carefully placing his hands on her hips.

“You’re wearing the necklace,” he noted.

She looked down. Lifting the black pendant, the silver swirls danced away from her fingertips. “I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“It looks nice on you,” he said, immediately wishing he hadn’t, because she smiled so broadly it made his hearts ache. She was like sunshine in his arms, and suddenly he didn’t care about the things he should and shouldn’t want. He just wanted her. In every way. Right or wrong, hybrid be damned, he needed her. “Clara,” he whispered, drawing her closer. “There’s something I should tell you—"

At that moment, the Duchess of High Torro barrelled into view. She was a remarkably tall woman, towering over everyone else in the room, splendid in a slivery, streamlined dress. Two advisors hurried after her, hands close to the weapons in their belts. 

“She looks worried,” Clara observed.

“So do those guards,” the Doctor said, as two more burst through the side door. Dressed in red shirts and body armour, they ran towards the Duchess, and with a hasty bow began talking earnestly. 

“They have probably got whatever it is under control,” the Doctor said.  
Clara nodded, glancing up at him. “Yeah. It’s probably nothing.” She must have seen the glint in his eye, though, because she grinned. “Suppose there’s no harm just checking in with them.”

The Duchess was huddled in the ballroom corner with her advisors. She spoke in a low voice “General Graske. How quickly can we evacuate the city?”

“Not quickly enough, ma’am.”

“Then fates help us. We need a miracle.”  
Graske spun around as she noticed the Doctor and Clara approaching, weapon in her hand.

“It’s alright, General,” the Duchess lay her hand on Graske’s arm. “I know these people. Doctor, Clara. I’m afraid you have returned to my country at a time of great peril.”

“What’s going on?” Clara said. “Perhaps we can help?” 

“Your skills are great, as I recall. Your ability to defuse the bomb saved many lives. But I’m afraid even your technical prowess can not save us this time. A malfunctioning communications satellite array has entered the upper atmosphere.” The Duchess glanced at Graske. “How long to impact?” 

The general looked at her data pad, where she was tracking a small red dot. “Twelve minutes. I can’t pinpoint exactly where it will fall, but the damage is likely to be severe.”

Clara’s face almost seemed to brighten. “Is the TARDIS close?” 

The Doctor grinned. “General, if I may?” he said, and without waiting for an answer, he took the data pad from her hands. “How big is it?”

Graske glanced at the Duchess, who nodded. “Twenty metric tonnes, sir. Enough to wipe out whole city blocks.”

“Where is the largest body of open water?”

“That would be the Heneva Reservoir.”

The Doctor was already backing away, Clara at his side. “Evacuate that area. Get everyone off the water.” The Duchess nodded briskly, and the Doctor heard Graske bark orders into her radio.

The Doctor grasped Clara’s hand, and they ran. 

As they skidded into the TARDIS, he heard Clara gasp. How many years had it been for her since she’d last seen the blue box? 

Clara recovered quickly and took her place by his side at the console. “So, I’m thinking we reverse the polarity of the Vortex Drive to generate enough negative energy to create an anti-gravity spiral, and use that as a tractor beam to guide the satellite into the water?”

The Doctor made a choking laugh. “Well, I was just going to nudge it with the TARDIS outer shell and hope I could smash it towards the lake. But I like your idea better.” He grinned, rather impressed with the technical prowess she’d developed over the years. “Be my guest.”

Clara’s fingers flew over controls even as his did, manipulating the Vortex Drive to her will. 

The Doctor flicked on the external viewer. Directly ahead, a huge satellite array glowed red, twisting and turning into the upper atmosphere. 

“There it is,” he said. “How long until we have enough power?”

“Thirty seconds. Can you get us closer?”

“I’ll try.” He surveyed the scene below. Uniformed officers were evacuating the crowds from the beach, but there were a few small boats still on the water. He scanned for a clear spot. 

“There!” he called to Clara. “We need to get it on the east side, away from the people.”

Clara was visibly sweating, her face red and contorted, furiously battling with the Vortex Drive.

The TARDIS lurched, throwing the Doctor backwards. He cursed and flung himself back at the controls. 

“Got it!” she exclaimed, “I think. Have we got it?”

Frantically, he reversed course, desperate to slow the satellite down before it hit the water. Even at quite a low speed an object the size of that would create a dangerous surge. 

The TARDIS engines groaned and complained, but eventually she stabilised enough to slow the satellite.

“Is it clear down there? I can’t hold this much longer!” Clara yelled over the groaning engines.

“The beach is. Yes. Wait. Damn it, there’s a yacht.” 

But it was too late. The great satellite tumbled end over end, and into the water. 

A small boat, with blue sails, and a single occupant, raced away from the huge wave, the teenaged sailor’s face stricken with fear.

“Can we get her off?” Clara yelled. 

The Doctor wrestled with his ship. “Come on old girl.” He checked the boat’s posistion and flipped the materialisation lever. 

Seconds later, a screaming girl, complete with half a deck, part of a blue canvas sail, and what seemed like several gallons of water, appeared inside the TARDIS console room. 

Clara sloshed her way towards the trembling girl. “It’s alright,” she said. “You’re safe now.”

***

After seeing the shaking girl safely in the hands of an emergency responder crew, Clara and the Doctor returned to the Duchess, who had been joined by her wife, Lady Annia

“We just wanted to check everything is okay,” Clara said. 

The Duchess looked rather bemused. Immensely grateful, but bemused. “I will not ask how, I am just grateful that you did,” she said to the Doctor.

“Actually, this time it was my clever friend, here,” the Doctor said. Clara felt a little buzz in her chest. He looked so proud of her. It had felt so natural, working together that way. She’d learned so much in the years since they had parted. Imagine the force of nature they would be together now! 

“We offer you the best hospitality our country can provide,” the Duchess said.

“We don’t need anything, but thanks for the offer.” Adrenaline was still coursing through Clara. Just like old times. Painfully so. She mustn’t get used to this, or expect too much. It would only hurt her in the end. “I should probably get back,” she said, reluctantly. “Ashildr is expecting me.” 

For a moment, the Doctor looked crestfallen. Then he pulled his face into an impassive mask. “Of course. We should go.” 

“Nonsense!” the Duchess said, taking the Doctor’s arm. “I insist you and your young friend stay for another dance at least. And the fireworks. Designed by the finest pyrotechnic artist in the whole system.”

Clara chewed her lip, and looked at the Doctor. His face was indecipherable for a moment, but a glimmer of hope escaped, and with the quirk of his lips, and a slight inflection of his eyebrows he won her over. 

“One dance couldn’t hurt,” he said. “Between friends.” 

Clara felt a thrill trickle through her body. _Oh, I think one dance could do quite a lot of damage_. But she had no more time to think, as she was swept away, into his arms and across the dance floor. 

That night, they danced together beautifully. In perfect sync. He smelled of adventure and stardust, and Clara didn’t want it to end. They danced next to the Duchess and her pretty blonde wife, who was much shorter than the regal ruler, but full of zest. Later, all four stood on the balcony, side by side watching the spectacular fireworks. Or more precisely, Clara watched the fireworks while the Doctor watched Clara, and the Duchess and Lady Annia watched them both.

“I suppose we should go,” Clara finally sighed, as the ballroom emptied and the waiting staff began clearing tables.

“Hmm,” the Doctor agreed. 

Their parting was lingering, painful, with long looks and longing glances.

“Will I see you again?” Clara breathed, her heart racing, gripping his little finger, wanting to hold his hand but still afraid to tke that step.

“If I’m lucky,” he replied.

Lady Annia watched Clara and the Doctor go. She turned to her wife. “Well, my dearest love. If those two are just good friends, I’ll eat my tiara.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes, these two surely can not keep this up much longer!


	4. All is Right in the Universe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor and Clara work out what they really want, although he has a few insecurities to work through as they do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don't know what happened to this chapter. I decided in the end to just stop agonising over it and post the damn thing. Please note the rating has jacked up to an 'M' so if you don't like that then give this a miss.

The Doctor couldn’t help himself. He had to go back. She was in his head when he was awake, and in his dreams when he slept.  
Hearts thumping, he parked the TARDIS outside, strode though hotel lobby towards the lift that would take him to the Ballroom, and if there was any justice in the universe, to Clara Oswald. 

“Good evening Sir.” A concierge in a smart blue uniform smiled at him. “Everything is in order.”

“Is it? Anything specific or the universe in general?”

The concierge smiled, and then she winked. “Oh yes Sir. Quite so.” 

The Doctor blinked. He raised a finger, and then shook his head, deciding that the woman had mistaken him for someone else, or was a bit dotty.

Possibly both. He hurried through the busy lobby and got in the lift. 

As he crossed the darkened ballroom dance floor where they had danced together, he could almost feel her under his fingertips. The softness of her dress, the smell of her perfume or whatever intoxicating scent she had been wearing last time. He almost burst onto the balcony. And there she was, standing with a glass of something golden and bubbly in her hand. 

She turned sharply. “You came.”

“How could I not?” he said. 

She was in his arms in the blink of an eye. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” 

He let himself hug her back fiercely. “Me either.” 

“Oh, god, Doctor, what are we going to do? We can’t go on like this.” She sniffed and pulled backwards so she could look him in the eye. “How long has it been for you since we last met?”

His face twitched slightly. “Since the satellite thing? That might possibly have been... from my point of view... now let me see.” He squinted as if he was digging up a distant memory. “I’m pretty sure that was yesterday.”

Clara laughed out loud. “It wasn’t just me then.”

He grinned, a sense of relief rushing into his bones. She was just as desperate to see him as he was to see her. “And the other times we met here?”

“For me, all this week. You?”

“Same.” 

They both laughed, and he gathered her up into his arms again. “You’re an addiction,” he whispered into her ear. “And you are beautiful,” he said, his breath catching in his throat. He pulled her towards him, his hands on her waist, his heart racing. 

She looked at him, suddenly solemn. “What are we going to do about it?”

The concierge, apparently with the worst timing in the universe, chose that moment to slip onto the balcony. 

“Good evening ma’am,” she said to Clara. “I have instructions to give you this.” She handed Clara a plastic credit card sized door key. She turned it over in her hand.

 _Room 12, Honeymoons Suit_ was printed in elegant font on the back. 

Clara’s jaw dropped open. “Who...who instructed you to give me this?”

“Why, the gentleman, ma’am.” The concierge glanced at the Doctor. 

“What?” the Doctor exclaimed. Was he really so bold? And presumptuous? He flushed deep red. “Ah, are you quite sure that was me?” 

“Oh yes Sir. Exactly you. Same jacket. Same eyebrows. All the same. Except, you had a rather fetching rose in your jacket.” She waved at his top pocket. “You were quite specific about the arrangements.” The concierge grinned. “I went all over the city looking for those roses!” Still smiling, she left.

The Doctor groaned and turned back to Clara. “I’m sorry. I want you to know, I haven’t actually done that yet. I would never presume.”

“Oh you dear man. I think it’s a fairly safe bet at this point.”

He sighed. She was right. They had always been good friends. But they were never just good friends. What was the point of denying it? 

“So we have to decide now,” Clara went on. “We have tonight. And apparently we have a room.”

He couldn’t argue with that. He didn’t want to argue with it. He just wanted her. To feel her skin under his fingers. To kiss away doubt. Worship her with everything he was or ever could be. She was the light in his darkness. She had always been there, at the edges of his lives, working her way deeper inside him. She knew him completely. Now he needed to know her. But he was drowning in trepidation. What if he actually wasn’t any good at it this time around? 

She threaded her fingers through his, as if she sensed his doubts. “You book the honeymoon suit. I think that has to mean something.” 

“I haven’t done it yet,” he reminded her.

“But you will. Now, tonight, tomorrow morning. You book the honeymoon suit for us, Doctor.”  
Anguish flitted through him. “If we go up to that room now, it changes everything between us.”

“I know.”

“I won’t be able to go back to how we were, Clara.”

She nodded. “Me either.”

Hand in hand, they left the ballroom and went into the hotel rooms. Up in the lift. Along the corridor. All the time his hearts racing, doubts assailing him like angry fireflies. 

They opened the door. A single electric blue rose that lay on the bed. A whole spray of the vivid flowers were set in a vase on a small table under the window. The Doctor paused on the threshold.

“Clara, we need to think this through. We might be making be a terrible mistake.”

“It might be a terrible mistake if we don’t.”

He stared at her. Eventually he said, “Good point.” 

She took his hand. “Doctor, we keep acting like there’s a great wall between us, and maybe one day we’ll find the courage to tear it down. What if its all an illusion? Maybe there’s no wall between us at all.”

“If there is a wall, we put it there ourselves. No one else did it.” He perched on the bed, and sat chewing his thumbnail. 

They paused for a moment. “Are you okay?” she finally asked.

“I’m very far from okay,” he said, “and I think its about time I did something about that.” 

As he kissed her, he was lost. His hands in her hair, her tongue pressing against his, her body pliant. He felt her lips smiling under his kiss. 

“Are you... happy?” he said. 

“Hmm,” she whispered, “Perfectly happy. You?”

“Exactly the same.” 

Her warmth enveloped him. All that mattered was her skin against his, her body moving with him, and for a long time after, they savoured the closeness. Eventually she kissed his forehead. “Okay?”

“Hmmm,” he said, with no inclination to move. “You?”

“Very, very okay.” 

Eventually they disentangled themselves, and lay cuddled close together, limbs entwined.

“I wasn’t expecting that,” Clara said, after a while.

“What?”

“Well, for the timing to be so...perfect. It isn’t always. Hardly ever. Well never, actually.”

“No? First time that’s worked out?” A satisfied glow descended on him. "Must be the imprinting.”

“Imprinting?”

It’s a mechanism to protect pair bonding across regenerations. Looking directly at a loved one during regeneration creates a low key psychic

connection, so the resulting body and the existing partner will be as compatible as the process allows.” 

“But I wasn’t your partner then,” Clara said, sleepiness already close to claiming her.

“Hmm, are you sure about that?”

Clara laughed softly. “Maybe I was a bit in love with you, even then. But if that’s true, why the big deal about not being my boyfriend?”

“I was a confused newborn,” he said, and then quickly added, “Not to mention an idiot.”

He watched her as she drifted to sleep next to him. A kind of peace settled into his chest. Just the Doctor and Clara Oswald, together at last. _And all is right in the universe._


End file.
